


If I Only Could (I’d Make a Deal with God)

by eternal_song



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Arguments, Crowley finally confronts Aziraphale about the fact that he's kind of a dick, I'm really sorry, M/M, drinking in the bookshop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2019-01-16 08:19:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12338952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternal_song/pseuds/eternal_song
Summary: Crowley has finally had enough of Aziraphale's insensitive comments regarding his demonic nature and confronts him about it.Inspired by Kate Bush's "Running Up That Hill"





	If I Only Could (I’d Make a Deal with God)

**Author's Note:**

> I've often thought that Aziraphale's attitude towards Crowley's demonic status was a little hurtful and deserved to be addressed more. I was listening to the Placebo cover of "Running Up That Hill" and this idea sprung to mind, and I word-barfed it into docs between writing essays. When I showed it to my beta readers the response was "wow ok thanks Liv what did we do to deserve that?"
> 
> In short, I'm sorry.

_ You don’t want to hurt me _

_ But see how deep the bullet lies _

_ Unaware, I’m tearing you asunder _

_ There’s a thunder in our hearts, Baby _

_ Is there so much hate for the ones we love? _

_ Tell me, we both matter, don’t we? _

_ -Kate Bush, “Running Up That Hill” _

 

It was an unremarkable October Thursday in London, and a certain angel and demon once again found themselves sitting in the dusty back room of the angel’s antique book shop. They were slowly making their way through a bottle of acceptable sauvignon blanc as Aziraphale told Crowley about his most recent task in shepherding humanity. Crowley half listened to the angel’s tale, gazing at Aziraphale’s animated gestures over the rim of his wine glass. He smiled to himself. Though the crisis of the apocalypse had since been successfully averted, neither had seemed inclined to break the habit they developed in the years leading up to it of meeting up at least once a week. In fact, Crowley was fairly certain that he and Aziraphale had seen more of each other in one decade than they normally might have in five in past centuries. The demon swirled the wine in his glass -- only his second thus far -- and considered this thought. While he was certainly glad of the company, being around the angel so frequently had led him to a new perspective on his character.

It might have surprised his co-workers to find out that Crowley, despite having rather good self-preservation instincts in the face of danger to his body or immortal being, had no such instincts towards his emotional well-being. Spending time with Aziraphale was perfectly safe for him physically. The angel had no more desire to discorporate or smite Crowley than Crowley had towards hurting Aziraphale, instinctual aversion to the divine notwithstanding. However, Crowley had recently been finding Aziraphale to be a deeply paradoxical creature. He wondered if he would ever be able to understand a being who could be at once so selflessly kind and startlingly insensitive.

Like right now, for example.

“Wait, wait wait wait,” Crowley said, holding up a hand to interrupt Aziraphale’s story. “I thought you were all about helping people find happiness. Why on Earth would you convince her to stay with her unfulfilling job and stagnant relationship rather than pursuing her dream?”

Aziraphale sighed testily and reached up to brush a lock of hair from his eyes.

“My dear, I know you’re all for taking risks, but don’t you think it’s better for her to hold onto the happiness she has? It’s so difficult for young composers to make a living, and so few succeed at it. She does enjoy doing arrangement work, and the young woman she’s seeing is very much in love with her.”

“Well, that’s all well and good for right now,” Crowley said, setting down his wineglass and rubbing his forehead, “But what about twenty years from now when she looks back and regrets not taking a chance? She has no guarantee she’d succeed, but you know how much the ‘what ifs’ bother humans. She doesn’t have any more guarantee that her current relationship will stand the test of time, either.”

Aziraphale huffed and took a long gulp.

“Are you suggesting that I should have told her to break off her relationship instead? I know you have a rather cynical view on-”

“No, no, don’t twist my words like that,” Crowley said. He was starting to get irritated, and wondered if the angel was being dense on purpose. “What I’m saying is that she has just as good of a chance of becoming a successful composer as she does at having a successful relationship. With humans it all comes down to how much they want something and how much effort they’re willing to put into it.”

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes at the demon.

“My dear, just because you’re unable to understand what love feels like-”

“Don’t.”

Aziraphale’s mouth snapped shut and his eyes widened at Crowley’s low snarl. The demon was glaring intently at the ugly rug on the floor. He had forgone his shades when he’d sat down, and a small part of him wondered how he looked to Aziraphale right now, yellow eyes blazing in sudden anger. He forced himself to take a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Don’t,” he repeated, almost in a whisper. He saw Aziraphale relax a little from his tensed position, and wondered if the angel had actually thought Crowley might lash out at him. The idea was almost laughable.

The silence stretched out, thick and awkward, as the two gathered their thoughts. Crowley supposed that this was as good of a time as any to address another of Aziraphale’s unintentional cruelties.

“Why do you keep saying things like that?” he asked, looking up into the angel’s wary eyes. They clouded over in confusion at his words.

“Like what?”

“Like you think I’m not capable of understanding or feeling things like love.”

Aziraphale blinked.

“Well, you’re a demon.”

Crowley kept staring at him, and Aziraphale fidgeted.

“Well, demons aren’t able to feel love, being so far removed from the light of God.”

“We’re not supposed to have free will,” Crowley pointed out through gritted teeth, “or a sense of humor, either. Angels aren’t supposed to be able to enjoy things like wine, or collecting books, but here we are.”

Aziraphale had the good grace to look abashed. Crowley slumped back in the chair, wondering where to go from there.

“I thought you knew me better than that,” he muttered, not caring if the angel heard him or not. Perhaps he should just leave and allow himself to calm down. He shouldn’t be surprised at this; he’d always known what Aziraphale thought of him, deep down. He ignored it most of the time, because it didn’t affect him enough to outweigh how much he liked being around the angel. Now, however, he was reminded of how disappointing it was that Aziraphale still clung to his heavenly prejudices rather than seeing Crowley for who he was.

“Do you?”

Crowley jolted out of his thoughts and stared at the angel.

“Do I what?” he asked.

Aziraphale hid his face in his wine glass and muttered, “Feel love.”

Crowley stared at him for a moment, wondering if he should even bother answering, if Aziraphale would believe him if he told the truth. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound, as they say. He nodded.

“Yes. I always have.” Crowley leaned forward and fixed Aziraphale with a penetrating stare, trying to discern the angel’s reaction to his words. When Aziraphale refused to meet his eyes, Crowley growled in frustration. “Being ‘removed from the light of God,’ as you put it, doesn’t take away a demon’s ability to feel things like love, or hope, or happiness. It’s just that most demons feel such pain and betrayal from the Fall that it makes them resent those emotions and twist them into something ugly. Hastur, for example, loves picking away at a soul until it is irreparably damned. Beelzebub gets joy from causing misery. And most demons hope for the apocalypse, If only for a chance to take out their resentment on the angels who still feel God’s love.”

Aziraphale’s face was pale in the face of Crowley’s coolly contained anger, so the Demon stood and made to gather his coat. It would be better to leave before he let on more about his own emotions than the angel had any need or right to know. Without breaking eye contact, he slid his arms into the sleeves and spoke as he shrugged the coat over his shoulders.

“I can’t believe that, after six thousand years, you still think me no different than them.”

He slid his shades over his eyes and turned to leave, but the angel instantly stood and took hold of his arm.

“I don’t- I- Crowley, I know you’re different,” he stammered, trying to get the demon to look at him. His pleading face almost made Crowley decide to stay. “I just didn’t realize that you- Crowley, I never meant to hurt you. You know I don’t want that.”

Crowley snarled and yanked his arm away from the angel’s grip.

“I’m not hurt,” he insisted, “I’m  _ inssssulted _ . You have no idea what I feel,  _ how _ I feel.”

“I- I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“No, you didn’t, and you never bothered to find out before.” Crowley was glad that he had put his shades back on, because he knew that if he hadn’t the angel would look into his eyes and see how hurt he really was. “So now you want to know? About my emotions, what I’m capable of feeling? Or do you just want me to reassure you that I’m not hurt so that you don’t have to feel bad about it?”

Aziraphale just shook his head, taking a step back and looking conflicted. Crowley decided to plow on anyway, as he was now too upset to simply let it go like that. It would serve the angel right, getting a taste of his own callousness.

“Do you want to hear a brilliant idea, Angel?” he asked, his voice taking on a mocking tone. “Sometimes I think that we should convince the Big Guy upstairs to take the two of us and switch us around.”

Aziraphale jerked back in shock, and Crowley sneered at him.

“Don’t you think that would be great? We could spend a few days in each other’s shoes, and then maybe I could finally understand what goes through that self-righteous, feathery brain of yours, because I’m beginning to think that would be impossible otherwise. Maybe I  _ have _ been away from Heaven for too long, and I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be like you.”

Aziraphale took another step back, expression morphing into one of concern and fear.

“Dearest, don’t say things like that, please. You can’t- you can’t make deals with God.”

Crowley snorted.

“I know I can’t. I’ve got nothing to bargain with that he could possibly want.”

“No, I mean that He doesn’t make deals at all.”

“Right, because that’s  _ my _ boss’s job.”

Aziraphale seemed to deflate, and he went back to his chair and sat down with a sigh.

“Crowley,  _ I’m sorry _ . Really, truly, I am. Please, just tell me how I can fix this. I never wanted to hurt you.”

Crowley remained standing, not looking directly at the angel as he tried to get his throat to work without betraying him. Finally, he managed a whisper.

“I know you didn’t,” he said, and the angel leaned forward to hear him better. Crowley licked his lips and tried again, voice louder. “I know you didn’t. But you’ve been doing it for six thousand years, angel. You did it that first evening, in The Garden, and you never stopped.”

Aziraphale’s face was awash with grief by this point. Crowley wished he hadn’t meant what he’d said, so that he could take it back. He’d never wanted it to get to this point, because even when the angel was accidentally cold, he was still Crowley’s best friend, and he didn’t want to hurt him either. His heart was pounding in his chest, the unnecessary pulse only serving to make him feel even more tense and unhappy. From the look on his face, he could sense that Aziraphale felt similarly. Perhaps this storm had been brewing since the night in the garden, and it was time for it to break.

“It’s been six thousand years, Angel,” Crowley reiterated after several tense moments of silence. Aziraphale seemed to flinch a little at the sound of his voice, which only served to make him angry again. “Six thousand years, and did it even once cross your mind that maybe I-” he broke off, swallowed, and continued with something a little tamer than what he’d been about to say. “Maybe I feel things just as deeply as you do, or as humans do? Do you even think of us as equals, or am I always going to be the snake you talk to because he’s an amusing little creature? Do I even matter to you?”

Aziraphale looked up at him, and his cheeks had tears tracing lines down them.

“Of course you do! Crowley, you’re my best friend. I thought you knew that!”

In an instant, Crowley was in front of him, leaning over to cage the angel against the back of the armchair.

“Friends trust each other, Aziraphale,” he snarled. He could taste salt in his mouth and he didn’t know why. “Friends give each other the benefit of the doubt.”

“I do trust you!” the angel insisted, even though his eyes were wide and he was shaking, although Crowley couldn’t begin to guess whether it was from fear or anger.

“Are you sure that’s wise, angel?” the demon asked, leaning closer and giving the angel a predatory grin. “I’m just a demon, after all. Just the serpent who convinced a girl to trust him and got all of humanity kicked out of The Garden.”

Crowley’s smile grew cold and humorless as Aziraphale let out a whimper.

“But sure, Angel, go ahead. Trussssst me.” Crowley stroked his index finger along Aziraphale’s jawline, just barely letting his fingernail trail along the soft skin. “I might ask you to prove it, though.” He was leaning in close enough that he could make out the details of Aziraphale’s irises. Even now, in the midst of his anger, he could appreciate how beautiful the angel was. Aziraphale sucked in a breath, and then rallied and looked him in the eye.

“Would that make you forgive me, if I did?”

Crowley froze, taking a moment to process the words. Then the smile slipped off his face, and he abruptly straightened. Aziraphale looked momentarily bewildered at the sudden distance, but then looked up at the demon curiously.

“...My dear?” he asked. Crowley shook his head.

“No,” he said, although he wasn’t sure if it was a refusal to let the angel speak or an answer to his question. “No, that wouldn’t solve anything. No matter what your opinion of me, I know who I am, and I refuse to do something like that to you.”

He turned to leave, but paused with his hand on the door to the front of the shop.

“If you had only asked, I would have done anything to help you understand,” he said. “But I’m not sure that’s possible. You’d never accept it anyway.”

He thought he heard Aziraphale stammer out a few words as he picked his way through the books to the entryway and swung open the front door. The bell jangled and a cold wind hit him in the face, making him aware of the tear tracks on his face for the first time.

_ I need to leave him be for a few decades, _ he thought to himself,  _ or else we’ll both just be miserable. _

His heart clenched, and though he knew that God didn’t make deals, he finally understood why mortals attempted it as part of their grieving process.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Feedback and kudos are always loved! I'm considering writing a less depressing follow-up, but considering that I really SHOULD be working on school and the next chapter of Tsubasa!!! on Ice, I can't guarantee anything.
> 
> Also, this is just how I chose to interpret the characters and the song, so if you have a different interpretation, I'd love to hear it.


End file.
